


Eyes Like Liquor (Your Body is Gold)

by whatiwouldnotgive



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: APH Rare Pair Exchange, Christmas, Fluff, M/M, Politics, country names used, musings on the nature of nations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-13 15:25:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17490470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatiwouldnotgive/pseuds/whatiwouldnotgive
Summary: Individual and independent but not alone any longer.





	Eyes Like Liquor (Your Body is Gold)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the APH Rare Pair Secret Santa Exchange 2019 for aph-switzerland-fanclub. I really enjoyed writing this over my Christmas break and getting to explore some of my head canons about the nations. I hope this fic will cheer your spirits up in these trying times. <3
> 
> As always, I do not own Hetalia and all living people depicted belong to themselves and were written without intention of harm or defamation.  
> Title from Taylor Swift's End Game

“What do you mean he’s not coming?”  America’s voice bordered on hysterical—he could hear it crack and winced.  A black weight settled at the base of his throat, choking him from the inside out.  

The woman he was talking to, a short, red-head with a severe jaw line, sighed.  Her security badge marked her as the newest chief of staff—the staff had been coming and going so often lately he couldn’t remember who worked where.  Rubbing the back of her neck, she sighed again before pulling out a file tucked under her arm. She flipped through it for a moment then handed him a cream-colored sheet of paper.  

“I’m really sorry, but the President requested I tell you that he won’t be coming to the party.  You could always ask the VP couldn’t you?”

The weight in his throat sunk to his stomach.  Shaking his head, he said, “No, he’ll be at home with his family.  I guess I’ll just have to go alone.” 

She reached out to lay a hand on his arm, but her touch made his skin crawl.  Walking back to his desk, he began collecting his papers and shoving hurriedly into his bag, “That’s—it’s fine.  Just go.” 

She nodded and made to leave; America, shoving his coat on and throwing his bag over his shoulder, breezed through the door after her, locking it behind him.  The walk from his White House office to his house wasn’t that far, but the late December wind whipped through DC’s wide streets, its cold fingers digging into the seams of his coat.  Burrowing his face in its sherpa lining, he ducked through the evening crowds headed to the airports and Union station and their homes. The glow of the street lamps highlighted the softly falling flakes—he forgot it was supposed to snow today.  

Fumbling with the key, he managed to open and shut the heavy oak door to his townhouse.  America kicked off his dress shoes, dropping his bag with a  _ thud  _ to the ground next to them.  He slung his coat on the back of an easy chair as he padded into the kitchen.  Fixing himself a whisky and coke and warming up the last of the leftovers in his fridge, he noticed a blinking red light on his answering machine.  (He could never quite bring himself to ditch the landline—it came in handy when keeping up with his older human friends who struggled with cell phones.)

Canada’s voice filtered out, strong and warm,  _ “Hey America, I hope I catch you before you fly out to Switzerland’s.  My boss’s whole family is coming to the party, so they’ll be staying together.  If you want to room together, let me know, eh? I’ll be there tomorrow evening. Call me back if you get this.   _

After ladling chicken and dumplings onto a plate, America grabbed the phone out of the cradle and curled up on the couch.  Dialing Canada’s number, he shoved a forkful in his mouth, choking a little when Canada picked up almost immediately. 

“America?  Is that you?”  

Swallowing hastily, America said, “Yeah, I got your message.”  

“What’re your plans then?  You okay with staying together?”

America nodded, even though he knew Canada couldn’t see him, “Yeah, turns out my boss isn’t coming.”  

There was a pause on Canada’s end, “Not at all?”  His voice was that neutral, soothing tone he used when trying not to upset someone.  America never liked being on the receiving end of it. He blew a huff of air up at his bangs.  

“Yeah, didn’t give a reason either.  Just isn’t coming. So, you and I can stay together.  I just don’t know how this is gonna look to everyone.”  The black weight settled in the pit of his stomach. 

“I’m sure Justin wouldn’t mind if you walked in with us.  I’ll talk to him tonight.” 

Heat prickled at his eyes.  He didn’t deserve Canada sometimes.  “Thanks. I’d appreciate it. I’ll be in to Geneva around seven local time.  I can wait for you at the airport.”

Canada laughed, “I’ll be in at seven too.  Wait for me outside of customs. We can grab a taxi together.  Try not to worry, eh? It’ll be fine. It’s just a weekend.” 

“I’ll try.  See you tomorrow, bro.  ‘Night.” 

“Good night, America.”  

The dial tone buzzed in his ear.  

* * *

 

“America!  I’m over here!”  America turned to see Canada waving at him.  He jogged over to him, duffle slapping against the back of his knees.  America threw his arms around Canada, pulling him close. 

“God, I missed you. Haven’t seen you since Thanksgiving.”  America said, muffled in Canada’s heavy down jacket. 

“You know, technically, in the grand scheme of being nations, a few weeks isn’t that long.”  

“Yeah, but it’s a long, god awful couple of weeks.  You know how it is.” 

Canada hugged him back, “Yeah, I do know.  Now, let’s get to the hotel. I think Switzerland is having drinks for all the nations tonight.  Give everyone a moment away from the bosses.” 

“Oh, thank God.  I need a fucking drink.” America said as they made their way out of the airport and hailed a taxi.  The hotel was a ways away from the airport, so they settled in catching up—mostly America bitching about the state of affairs and Canada cracking jokes to lighten the mood.  

Canada checked them into the hotel while America paid the taxi driver, slipping into German as easily as breathing.  The driver looked a little puzzled at his accent but accepted payment anyway; America forgot that the German settlers in Pennsylvania had, in their own way, developed their own version of the language, and it could be incomprehensible to some native speakers.  

He hauled both his and Canada’s duffles up into the elevator and into their room, flinging them onto one of the double beds.  Canada opened the blinds letting in some light from the street below. 

“Nice view,” he said.  Switzerland booked a block of rooms on the top floor of the hotel; their window overlooked most of Geneva.  America could see out overtop the rust coloured rooftops towards the lake. The city twinkled with Christmas lights, powdered with late December snow.  

America turned and began digging around in his duffle.  With a little, triumphant smile, he pulled a tie and button-up shirt out.  “I’m gonna get changed out of these airplane clothes then we can head down together, yeah?” He said.  

Canada nodded, settling into a chair with his laptop.  “That’s fine,” he said, “I’ve got some paperwork to do, so take all the time you need.”  

The hotel had a small ballroom where Switzerland had a set up a bar with a few tables.  The room itself was dripping with twinkling lights and laden with garlands and holly. Tea candles flickered and reflected against the white tablecloths.  America stood at the threshold of the room, watching the other nations laugh and talk. In the center of the room, Luxembourg whirled Belgium around in a makeshift dance floor to the European pop music playing.  

Canada touched his shoulder, “C’mon let’s go.”  

America allowed Canada to guide him to the bar.  America flipped through the cocktail list while Canada ordered a beer.  Glancing up, the bartender met his eyes, clearly bored and awaiting his order.

“I’ll take a scotch, neat,” he said.  The bartender didn’t so much as acknowledge that he heard America before turning around and pouring his drink into a heavy glass.  America barely took a sip before he heard a tinkling sound echo around the room. Music dimming, Switzerland stood at the front, tall and proud in his military dress.  America distinctly felt underdressed in his shirt and obnoxiously-festive tie that Michelle had given him as a gag gift a few Christmases ago. 

Clearing his throat, he said, “Thank you all for coming.  I trust you’re all looking forward to the main party tomorrow.  In the morning, we’ll start our last conference for the year. We’ll review how close we came to our goals that we laid out in January.  For now, please enjoy tonight.” He paused, giving a rare smile. “Liechtenstein spent a long time working on the details on this weekend.  I’ll be around if any of you need to speak with me.” From a nearby table, America spied Liechtenstein looking proud, a hint of colour to her cheeks.  

Raising his glass, he called, “To a great 2018!  _ Prost _ !”  

Around him, the other nations raised their glasses, cheering.  Looking down at his glass, he swirled the amber liquid round and round, accidentally sloshing a little on his shoe.  A hot, anxious cloud pressed in on his head; a wave of dizziness fell over him, and he stumbled forward a step. 

Canada rushed forward, “Are you okay?” he whispered.  

“Yeah.  I’m fine.  I think I just need some air,” he replied, shaking off Canada, handing him his glass, and slipping back out the door.  The hallway was blissfully cool and empty. A window on the side had a little ledge, just enough that America could sit and rest his head against the cool glass.  Listening to the sounds emanating from the ballroom, America allowed his eyes to close. He took a few deep breaths, trying to quell the buzzing in his head.

“America?  Are you alright?”  

America sat upright.  Switzerland stood hesitantly in front of him, brows knitted together.  

“Of course.  I just, uh. Had to make a call.” 

Switzerland’s mouth flattened into a line, “I’m sure.  It’s just, you left quite quickly, and it  _ is _ my job as host to make sure everyone’s okay.  Also, Canada came to me and said that you might be upset.” 

“Ugh, Canada.” America said, hanging his head.  

“ _ Ja _ ,” was all Switzerland said in reply.  He crossed the few feet between them and sat next to America on the window ledge.  

“Yesterday, Liechtenstein informed me that your boss wasn’t coming to the party.  I knew then that this would probably be a difficult weekend for you.”

“What?  No, I’ve been to plenty of events alone.”  He forced a laugh, watching Switzerland cringe out of the corner of his eye; apparently the laugh sounded faker than he intended.  “Why would this one be any different?”

“I think we both know that’s shit.”

America met Switzerland’s gaze, intense and serious as always.  It wasn’t often that he cursed like that, so casually. All the decades America had known Switzerland, he kept himself reserved and formal.  It came in handy during negotiations when Switzerland mediated for America with Iran or Cuba, able to shut down even the most tense situations with a single, cool look.  Now though, America felt it forcing the truth out of him. 

He sighed, body hanging forward, staring down at his hands.  “I guess. Well. Everything that’s been happening. It’s isolating.  Every conference, I feel you guys staring at me. And I can’t just disappear for a while like I used to.  I could just go out west for a while. I feel like now if I even look away for a minute, everything’s gonna fall apart.”  His voice dropped to a whisper. “What if I disappear? What if this is just the beginning?” 

“America,” Switzerland’s voice was razor sharp, “I’ve lived for millenia.  I’ve lived through the plague, fought through hundreds of wars, and seen the rise and fall of dynasties that lasted longer than you’ve been alive.  You’re not going to disappear. There’s too much of all of us in you.

“Think about it—all the thousands of immigrants from our lands who migrated to you, all on a dream.  You’re more than your government. We all are. Nations exist because of our people.” Switzerland stood up, offering a hand out to America.  “Let’s go back inside and have a drink. I think there are some nations who want to see you”

America took the outstretched hand and stood.  For a moment, the two of them faced each other, a hair's breadth apart, hands touching.  Switzerland’s gaze curiously flickered between America’s lips, eyes, and the window. Switzerland’s hand moved to hold America’s wrist, thumb stroking the soft inside of it.  America felt his stomach drop. 

Someone behind them cleared their throat.  Startled, America looked over Switzerland’s head to see Liechtenstein standing in the doorway, feet shuffling and picking at the hem of her sleeve.  

“Brother?” she said in her quiet way.  

Switzerland released America’s wrist, turning around on his heel, as if doing a military drill.  “Yes? Is something the matter?” 

“No, I was just making sure you were okay.  Are you two coming back inside?” 

America spoke up, “We were heading back just now.  Come on, let’s go.” He ran a sweaty hand through his hair, trying to quell a tremor running through it.  He strode ahead back into the ballroom and glittering Christmas decor. Plastering on a smile, he scanned the room for Canada who came bounding over him.  

“Are you feeling better?” he asked, handing America his sweating glass of scotch.  

“Yeah, yeah.  Switzerland talked to me—thanks for that, by the way.”  Canada had the grace to look a little abashed. 

America felt a touch on his elbow; Switzerland pointed towards a corner, “Lithuania has been waiting for you to arrive.”  America saw Lithuania waving at him, gesturing him over. 

“Thanks,” he whispered before disappearing off to see Lithuania.  Switzerland nodded, turning to Canada who swept the two of them off to chat with France.  

 

Returning to his room, America was pleasantly buzzed.  Chuckling at Canada’s snarky jokes as they watched a dubbed-over movie on tv.  Canada flopped on his bed, hair fanned around him. 

“What did Switzerland talk to you about?” He asked, tone prodding and jovial, like when they were colonies, and he figured out America had a crush on the red-haired stableboy England hired.

“Oh, just.  Nothing.” America tried for arch, pulling on a ancient sweatshirt

emblazoned with “Harvard  Class of ‘79.” 

“Mhm,” Canada replied.  “If you’re gonna be a hoosier about it, I won’t push.”  Kicking off his dress shoes and curling up on his side, he watched America putter around the room, flicking the tv off with a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth.  

Disappearing into the bathroom, America shouted back, “I’m not being a hoosier.  We really did talk about nothing. He just asked if I was okay.” He returned sleepy eyed and loose tongued—Canada had always been easy to talk to. 

“You were gone for a while.  Long enough that Liechtenstein went looking for you.  And, she told me you were standing really close when she went out.  Holding hands.” 

America felt his cheeks pink up, wrist tingling where Switzerland had touched him.  

Face gleeful, Canada sat up again,  “So you  _ were  _ holding hands.”  

Sputtering, America said, “No!   _ No.   _ Maybe?  He was more holding my wrist.”  

“Oh my God.  When I told him to talk to you, I didn’t think he was gonna kiss you.”  

“He didn’t!  We didn’t. At least, I don’t think we were going to.”  America felt an embarrassed twist in his guts at the thought.  Had they been going to kiss? He tried to picture it: Switzerland’s strong, calloused hand on his waist, America leaning down a few inches and Switzerland up on his toes, America’s lips curling into a smile.   His stomach swooped like he missed a step going down the stairs. 

Canada snorted in disbelief, “Of course not.”  

“What does that mean?”  

“You’re the most oblivious person ever.  You wouldn’t know if someone was trying to kiss you until they actually did it.”  

America slipped under the covers of his bed, placing his glasses on the side table.  After plugging his phone into the charger, he finally replied, “Well that might be true, but what would Switzerland see in me?  No nation’s shown any interest in me in like, 20 years.”   
Canada looked at him sadly, mouth turned down.  America couldn’t bear the weight of his gaze and turned on his side.  He fell asleep without noticing Canada turning off the light and ignoring Canada’s soft, “Oh, America.”  

Justin Trudeau had a kind smile and a charm that disarmed many tough leaders.  His wife Sophie was the same. America watched Canada chat with them, dressed in a maroon blazer with his flag pin on the lapel.  Around him, the other nations waiting anxiously for the beginning of the party—Russia with his grimdark president, England and his towering Prime Minister, Vietnam looking resplendent in her traditional dress on the arm of her own President.  America shifted his weight from foot to foot, back pressed to the wall. 

A burst of music signaled the beginning of the festivities; countries and their leaders lined up and began making their way inside.  Bright laughter and cheers mingled with the crescendo of the music. 

“America,” Trudeau said turning to face him, “Will you be alright walking in with us?”  

“Yeah, thanks agai—”

“Actually, he’ll be walking in with me.” Switzerland interrupted him.  He hadn’t even noticed when Switzerland walked up to them. He seemed to glow in his military dress, shoulders back and chin turned up in pride.  

“That’s great.  We’ll see you inside.”  Canada and the Trudeau’s made their way inside, Canada shooting him a pointed Look over his shoulder.  

America opened his mouth to say something but closed it resolutely when Switzerland raised a hand.  

“My boss unfortunately came down with the flu this morning and is unable to make it tonight.  I was thinking you and I could make the entrance together.” The toe of his shoe dragged along the marble floor.  It rested beside America’s.

“That would be awesome.”  

Switzerland held out the crook of his arm, face pointing forward, “I think it’s time.”  

Lacing their arms together, they walked in step to the grand ballroom.  This time held at Switzerland’s Federal Palace. As they entered the room, they were met with the shining eyes of the other nations and the splendor of the decorations.  Dripping icicles and glittering lights. Deep greens of a tree, holly, and garland draped the edges of tables and chairs. Delicate ornaments hung off the Christmas tree at the head of the room, with a backdrop of Switzerland’s flag.  On stage, a small band played traditional classical. America tried to snapshot the moment in his mind, it reminded him so much of the grand balls he attended once or twice, either trailing England’s coattails or on diplomatic missions as a fumbling young nation.  

Switzerland caught him looking gobsmacked and boyishly jostled him, “I had nothing to with this.  It was all Liechtenstein.” He subtly gestured his head over to where she was excitedly chatting with Latvia and Seychelles in a delicate egg-shell blue gown.  

“You’re lucky you two are so close.”  America said as Switzerland guided him towards the center of the dance floor, bewildered by the note of jealousy in his own statement.

“You have Canada.  It is the same between us.”  Switzerland looked up at him.  “America?”

“Yes?”  He could feel the spotlight of faces on him.  He was present and individual and so very, very alone.  

“Would you care to dance with me?”  Switzerland asked, face incomprehensible, the glow of the room casting shadows along his delicate features.  America knew him to be anything but delicate. The crook in nose from a break that happened 500 years ago, the scar on the back of his left hand from a sword, the way one leg had the slightest blink-and-you’d-miss-it limp from a bullet wound.  America felt the immediate stretch of history and time between them. 

“Yes.  Of course.”  

Switzerland took his hand and waist, guiding him into a waltz.  It took America a few stumbling moments to remember the steps. The crescendo of the music cascaded over the two of them like a breaking wave.  America was intimately reminded of standing on the New England coast, gazing out to sea and imagining himself in Europe—lapping waves at his feet, the taste of salt spray, towering trees behind him, alone and independent.  As he had alway been. As he had always wanted. What if he could be European, he thought Would he be the same? That bond of shared history and civilization. He knew it could never be, the ocean that rushed in his ears was a constant reminder of that forever separation.

“You’re different than Europe,” America whispered.  

Switzerland raised his eyebrows, “How so?”  

“Y’all have this bond.  You’ve been so tangled up since the beginning.  But you. You’re neutral. And you hold onto that so fiercely.  It’s— it’s admirable.” 

“That’s kind of you to say.  We all find ways to hold onto our humanity.  It’s easy to let time erase what makes us different—or to let those differences turn into fractures.  It’s difficult, I think, for us nations to find a middle. You, America, you’ve burned so bright for so long.  You’re a torch we look to. Us Europeans may have a history, but we’ve allowed our differences to fracture too many times.  Even today, this peace is fragile. I’ve admired your leadership—unafraid to stand alone when nobody else will stand with you.”

His throat burned, “Thank you.”

Switzerland looked up, met his wet eyes, “For what?”

America laughed, softly and far more relaxed than his usual ricocheting burst.  Switzerland quirked a smile. They continued to sweep wide circles around the floor.  A few other nations and leaders joined them.   
“You see the good in me.  Thanks. I’ve been alone for so long I think I lose sight of who I am.”  The song slowed to a stop, the room echoed with claps. Switzerland pulled out of the room onto a little balcony.  It overlooked Bern’s skyline. The cold winter air whipped around them, snow falling into their hair, dusting their shoulders, and smudging America’s glasses.  

Switzerland held both of America’s hands in the cradle of his own.  “America, I’ve never had many chances to do this, but I would like to spend more time with you.  If you’d like. I’ve been trying to figure out how to say this for several months now, and I guess this will have to do.”  

“It’s fine.  It’s perfect.  I’d like that a lot.”  America tucked a piece of Switzerland’s hair behind his ear who scowled minutely at the tender gesture.  

Switzerland, still holding one of America’s hands, began stroking his wrist—just as he had done last night, and America felt himself go weak at the knees.  

Voice barely above a whisper, eyes half-lidded, America asked, “Can I kiss you?”  

Switzerland nodded and said, “please.”

He leaned down and kissed him.  A pleasing warmth flowed through like the first rays of summer sunshine on skin.  Switzerland did indeed hold his waist, crinkling his suit jacket in his strong grip.  The smell of his cologne made America dizzy who stepped closer, legs slotting together, chests pressed together.  Cupping Switzerland's face, he paused to breathe. Together on that balcony in the midst of the lights and music and glamour, America could feel the soft edges of his heart knitting back together.  A person who could stand with him, both individual yet not alone any longer.


End file.
